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More Than This 10

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, references to childhood trauma, pregnancy, non-graphic references to vomiting, my own rampant abuse of italics and en dashes, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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A/N: Oh my gosh, we're back!!! You guys, it felt so good to get back to these two and I really love how this chapter turned out. My big goal for this year is to finish this series. I feel good about it! So hopefully the motivation and inspiration will keep going!

Big thanks to @biteofcherry for suggesting the meal Reader cooks here. Thank you, Eva! It was exactly what I needed for this.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too! As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The pan was sizzling, and you were busy chopping herbs when Ransom got home. You smiled from your place at the kitchen island as you watched him take off his outerwear and shoes and say hello to an excited Lola.

“Welcome home,” you said warmly once all that was done, and he came to join you in the kitchen.

He smiled and gave you a quiet hello. Then, he took out his phone and waved it at you as he looked around the kitchen. “So what’s all this about?”

You glanced at his screen to find the text you’d sent earlier that day, telling him to come home at a decent time because you were making dinner. “I’m making dinner,” you said, obviously.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, clearly. But why?”

You just shrugged. “Because I wanted to. I told you I enjoyed it, didn’t I?”

He looked at you skeptically. “I just figured that was some Stepford bullshit you expected me to want. Didn’t realize anyone actually enjoyed it.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Well, I do. It’s still got about twenty minutes, so you can go relax and I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” You froze as soon as the words were out of your mouth, for just a second, almost like you were having an out-of-body experience. What a wife thing to say.

As you tried to subtly shake yourself out of it, Ransom shot you a look to show that he had perhaps thought the same thing, before he went upstairs to his room with a promise that he’d be back down soon.

You busied yourself easily, readying the finishing touches as the contents of your pot and pan finished cooking. You were perfectly happy to keep working on dinner by yourself while Ransom unwound from his workday upstairs. So you were surprised when, just a few moments after he'd gone upstairs, Ransom came back down, wearing a soft maroon sweater and gray sweats, and took a seat right in front of you at the kitchen island. You didn’t comment on it, though, and neither did he.

“How was your day?” you asked, keeping your eyes on the cutting board.

He let out a low groan, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rolling his shoulders. With a sigh, he said, “Walt's gonna be the fucking death of me.”

You carefully set your knife down to give him your full attention. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “He just thinks that constantly undermining me is the way to get Harlan to realize his mistake and name Walt heir. It's an ongoing problem.”

You resumed your chopping. “Harlan won't change his mind. I've barely met him, and even I know Walt's a fucking idiot.”

You looked up to find Ransom smirking at you, but this time, it didn't make you feel stupid or silly. Instead, it made you feel like part of his team, united against his idiot relations. It was a nice feeling.

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I think Walt's the only one who doesn't know that. It won't make him stop trying, though.”

“Hopefully, it won’t be too long until Harlan retires and hands everything over to you. Then you can just fire Walt immediately and finally be done with him.”

Ransom shot you a mean little grin. “Oh, trust me. I’ve had numerous fantasies of what that moment will look like. In great detail. I’m going to savor it.”

You laughed. “Maybe I’ll come to work with you that day. He’ll definitely deserve witnesses.”

“Of course,” he said, “I mean, I’ll need someone to film it.” That just made you laugh harder, and his mean smile turned pleased. “I didn’t know you had a vindictive streak. I like it.”

You laughed again. “Trust me,” you said, “I can be plenty vindictive. I broke Steve’s paintbrushes once when I was a kid, because he wouldn’t take me to get ice cream.”

Ransom leaned forward with a devilish smile. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see his face.”

You gave him a good-natured eye roll. “Yeah, I’m sure you would have.”

He just grinned at you but didn’t respond further. A comfortable silence filled the room as you put the finishing touches on dinner, one that neither of you seemed to feel an urgent need to fill. You hummed quietly to yourself as you pulled the pans off the burners and began to dish it up onto two plates. You placed one in front of Ransom and moved to sit next to him.

“Oh wow,” he said, looking down at the beef tenderloin medallions in porcini sauce nestled next to garlic mashed potatoes and an herb salad. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” you asked, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “I guess I don’t really know. I’ve never cooked for myself, so” another shrug. “Ramen, maybe?”

You snorted. “If I ever serve you ramen, you can trust that it won’t be from a packet.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, still looking down at the plate. “I understand that now.” He took a bite of the beef and immediately closed his eyes. “Holy shit,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” you asked, feeling strangely vulnerable.

“Yeah,” he answered, locking eyes with you. “It’s delicious. Incredible.”

His eyes were intense. You swallowed and looked down at your own plate. “Good. I’m glad you like it.”

You both ate quietly for a few moments before he spoke again. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

You shrugged, a little bashful. “Steve went to college when I was twelve. I was too old for a nanny at that point, so I was just all alone in that house. My mom–” You stopped yourself and shook your head. You never knew how to explain her. “I would go down to the kitchen and hang out with Joseph’s cook, because he’d always been nice to me. After a while, he started teaching me, letting me help with dinner. I think my mom was kind of weirded out at first, but she eventually decided it’d be a great skill to impress my future husband. I was just doing it for myself, though. I used to daydream about being a chef somewhere.”

“Well,” he said, so softly, “you’re really good at it. You’re welcome to kick Carol out of the kitchen any time you want.”

You couldn’t help the way you beamed down at your plate. “Thank you.” After a few more quiet moments of you both eating, you added, “Sorry, there isn’t any wine. Anything with alcohol has been making me so nauseous lately.”

Ransom frowned. “Are you feeling alright now?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been doing okay today. And everything online says I’ll hopefully feel better in just a few weeks, so… Just gotta hold on ‘til then.”

He gave your back a comforting pat, seemingly without realizing it. “Well,” he said, “this probably won’t make you feel any better, but before I forget, Harlan invited us to dinner on Saturday.”

You stopped eating, carefully placing your fork on your plate. “Oh.”

He sighed. “Yeah. Just him and my parents, so not the whole awful lot of them.”

You nodded compulsively, trying to stop your insides from twisting. “Right. That’s fine.” And then a thought struck you with horror. “I suppose we’ll need to tell them that I’m pregnant.”

“Do you want to tell them?” he asked, his tone incredibly even.

“Not really, but we have to, don’t we?”

Ransom rolled his eyes hard, shifting his whole body. “They can find out at the baby’s first birthday, for all I care. If you don’t want to tell them, we don’t have to tell them.”

You knew, logically, that that wasn’t true. People would need to know that you’d fulfilled the contract. But when you actually thought about facing them and sharing this news, your entire body locked up. “No,” you said very quietly. “No, I don’t want to tell them. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” Ransom said with finality. “Then we won’t mention it. We’ll just have a run-of-the-mill awful dinner with them and keep our mouths shut.” Then he went back to eating his potatoes, and the conversation moved on.

Saturday came sooner than you were ready for.

You took off another dress and threw it down in your closet. There was a small pile gathering at your feet. You weren't quite gripped by the same absolute panic as the last time you tried to dress for his family, but you could feel it starting to bubble up inside of you. You tried to force yourself to take a deep breath. There was one more thing you could try.

You tentatively took a step outside the closet and hesitated. You looked across the hallway to the other bedroom. This was okay. You could ask for this. “Hey, Ransom,” you called out. It only took a moment for him to appear in his doorway. He wasn’t dressed yet. “Could you– I– I could use your help.”

He studied your face for a moment and then nodded decisively. He left his room, and you led him back into your closet, where you just stood and stared helplessly at your clothes.

“What do you need help with?” he asked, softly, putting a gentle hand on your back. That was the moment you both seemed to realize you were just in your underwear. He pulled his hand back quickly as you cleared your throat nervously.

“Uh, your mom– She always seems to have an opinion about how I’m dressed and–” you gestured to the racks and shelves of your clothes. “I don’t know what will make her happy.”

He sighed and took a step closer. “The first thing you need to know is that nothing you do will ever make her happy. So don’t waste your energy trying to please her. It’s impossible. But–” he turned to the dresses hanging in front of you and looked at them carefully. Then he took down a simple, knee-length Chanel. “Here,” he said, handing you the hanger, “it’ll be hard for her to find anything to complain about with that one.”

You took the dress with a nod and slipped it onto your body. Then, as you reached behind yourself to zip it up, Ransom’s hand on your wrist stopped you. “Let me,” he whispered. Both of his hands found the small of your back and you swallowed, feeling his heat through the thin fabric. As he slowly glided the zipper up your back, you suddenly remembered the way he’d unfastened your wedding dress the first morning you’d been married. His hands had always been so gentle with you.

When he got to the top of your dress, he lingered there for just a moment, his hands still on you. Then he took a purposeful step back. “There,” he said.

You turned to your full-length mirror. The dress looked nice, simple but elegant. Perfect for an intimate family dinner. You turned to the side and looked at yourself in profile, running your hand over your stomach. “Do you think they’ll be able to tell?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away, looking at you carefully. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I barely can, and I know exactly what I’m looking for.”

You looked at your reflection again and sighed. “Alright. Well, I should finish getting ready. And you need to get dressed. We don’t want to be late.” You turned to start putting on jewelry, but Ransom stayed where he was.

At your questioning glance, he put his hands on his hips. “We don’t need to go, you know. If you don’t want to.”

You scoffed. “Of course we do. Harlan invited us, and you’re his heir. Of course, we need to go.”

He sighed and dropped his hands, pinning you with a surprisingly serious look. “One of these days,” he said lowly, “we’re going to talk about this unearned sense of responsibility you have towards everything.”

You immediately rolled your eyes. Nothing you felt was unearned. You just understood how this world worked. More than he did, apparently. You didn’t say anything more and shooed him back to his own room.

You grabbed Ransom’s wrist as it was still on the gear shift between you, after he’d put the car into park. He turned to you with his brows furrowed in concern. “Sorry,” you started, knowing the anxiety you felt was in your voice. “I just– Can you–” You took a deep breath and in a much smaller voice, you pleaded, “Promise you won’t leave me alone in there. Please.” You were such a coward.

But Ransom’s face didn’t show any judgment. “I promise,” he said, his voice so soft. “Not for a second.”

You nodded, with one more shaky breath, then you both got out of the car.

Once at the house, you were shown into an intimate sitting room where Ransom’s parents and grandfather were having pre-dinner drinks. The conversation stopped the moment you entered the room, all eyes on the two of you.

Harlan was out of his seat first, coming over to greet you. “My dear!” he said, once he was close enough to grasp both of your hands. “I swear you grow more radiant by the day.”

You forced a smile and a small thank you as you felt your face heat, just a bit. You hated the way his compliments always made you feel like an object. One to be admired, yes, but– But only ever that.

You felt Ransom’s hand press into you where it was stuck like glue to your lower back. You tried to let his touch ground you as Linda joined your group, Richard still over at Harlan’s drink cart. “Well,” she said, in lieu of a greeting, “not quite as late as usual. I suppose I should count it as a win.”

“Mother,” Ransom forced out, and you were sure you could hear his teeth grinding together.

“Son,” she said, shortly, before her gaze fell on you. Her pinched features roved over your body, and it took everything in you to stand firm, not flinch, not cower, Ransom’s hand steady on your back. “Darling, you’re looking well.”

What the hell did that mean? It was close to a compliment, but it couldn’t possibly be that. Did she know? Could she tell? Was that what she was trying to say? You tried to not let yourself spiral as you felt Ransom’s hand on your back press into you even more. You were fine. You weren’t facing her alone. “Thank you, Linda,” you said with a smile that you hoped had at least a little bite in it, “so are you.”

Her brows pinched together for a nanosecond, just long enough for you to catch, before they smoothed back out into her uniformed look of regal calm. But you’d done it, you’d ruffled her too. You’d seen it.

“Come, come,” Harlan said, motioning towards the little circle of love seats and arm chairs on one side of the room. “Let’s not make the kids stand awkwardly in the doorway. Let them sit!”

Linda gave you one more hard look, then turned back to the sitting area. As she did, you caught a whiff of her strong perfume and your stomach roiled dangerously. You let out a rough exhale, trying to steady your stomach. No. Not here. Not now. You refused.

Ransom, of course, noticed. He seemed to notice everything. He shot you a concerned look, but you just shook your head as subtly as you could. You’d be okay. You had to be.

The moment you sat down, Richard was in front of you, handing Ransom a glass of whiskey. He passed it right under your nose, and the moment the scent of the alcohol hit you, your stomach did another flip. No no no.

You were so focused on not being sick, it took you a long moment to register the fact that Richard had asked you a question. “What can I make you to drink, sweetheart?”

You froze. Everyone was looking at you. Oh god, why hadn’t you planned for this? You were going to give it away. They would see right through you.

“I don’t think she wants anything. Right?” Ransom asked you with a raised eyebrow. He turned back to his father. “She’s had a headache all day.”

You grabbed onto the lifeline he was offering with both hands. “Yes! Nothing for me, thank you. I’m feeling much better now, but no reason to tempt fate, right?” You forced a chuckle and felt Ransom relax minutely next to you.

That seemed to be a good enough excuse, and the conversation moved on quickly. You didn’t pay much attention. Linda crowed about her business. Richard complained about the state of the world. Harlan offered up opinions about everyone else. But luckily, no one seemed to require much input from you, so you didn’t offer any. More surprising was that Ransom stayed equally quiet. He didn’t snipe. He didn’t complain. He didn’t yell or insult. He just sat next to you, tense, with one hand on your thigh.

Since it was a much more intimate group this time, when it was time to eat, you all moved to the table set up on the other side of the sitting room, instead of moving into the formal dining room. You were seated between Ransom and Harlan, which seemed like the safest option, even though you now found yourself across from Richard and could feel his eyes on you. That was alright, though, you told yourself. As long as Ransom stayed with you, like he promised, you’d be okay.

The first course passed without incident, and you were starting to breathe easier. But then the next plate was placed in front of you: poached salmon in an herbed beurre blanc. Your already shaky stomach revolted violently, and you moved without thinking, rushing from the table to the nearest bathroom. You heard your name being called behind you, but you didn’t dare stop. You careened into the little bathroom off of the main entrance, slamming the door behind you. Just in time, you found yourself kneeling in front of the toilet, no longer trying to keep yourself together.

Once you were done and your stomach was empty, you stood up on shaky legs and began to clean yourself up. You still looked a little green around the gills when you checked yourself in the mirror, but you were presentable enough.

You heard voices on the other side of the bathroom door and sighed deeply as you braced yourself. There was no use hiding. You opened the door to find Ransom standing directly in front of it, facing you with a deep look of concern on his face, shielding you from his family behind him. “Are you alright?” he asked, lowly, just for you, his brows knit together, his eyes roving over your face.

You took another deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” you answered softly, “I’m okay.”

Linda’s head popped up over Ransom’s shoulder. “Darling,” she demanded, voice sharp. “Are you pregnant?”

You thought about lying for a split second, but what was the point? They would all find out eventually. Your eyes flicked to Ransom, hoping to find an answer there, but he seemed to be looking for the same from you. So you just sighed and said, resigned, “Yes. I am.”

Harlan immediately clapped his hands together. “Wonderful news!” he exclaimed. “Fran!” he called out to his housekeeper. “We need champagne! And a sparkling water! This is a time to celebrate!”

You were both herded back into the sitting room and deposited onto the love seat. Linda was already on her phone in the corner, speaking about finalizing the deal. Richard was making himself another drink. Harlan accepted the tray of champagne from Fran and passed them out.

You felt… something at having it all out in the open. Maybe that this was a real thing happening in the real world now. And if it was no longer a secret, maybe now you could put all of your energy toward preparing for this very real baby.

Next to you, Ransom didn’t seem to be experiencing any of that relief or clarity. He was stiff, thrumming with tension. His expression was on the verge of stormy. What was he thinking? What could he be so upset about? You put a gentle hand on his wrist where his fist was clenched next to your leg. He didn’t relax, but he didn’t pull away either.

Once everyone had a glass, Harlan raised his own. “To the two of you and the family you’re starting. May this bring you closer together and help you understand your purpose. And may your son be strong and smart and know that he is a Thrombey and stands on the shoulders of giants!”

Everyone drank except for Ransom, whose face had gone completely stony. But Harlan wasn’t done. Now he turned his gaze directly on his grandson.

“Oh, my boy. Fatherhood will be so good for you. Exactly what you need. That’s why I was so insistent on the pregnancy clause. This is what will finally turn you into the man I’ve always known you could be. This is what will make you truly worthy of being my heir.”

In that moment, your heart broke for Ransom. You knew how much his grandfather’s approval meant to him. And how much it hurt him to know that he’d never get it, not unless he became a different person. This was just more of the same, but on a much grander scale. You went to squeeze his wrist, but he stood up instead and shook you off.

“Did it ever occur to you, in this whole fucking mess,” he growled, and you braced yourself for what was coming, even as you knew how much Ransom deserved to stand up for himself, “that she is an actual person with her own thoughts and feelings instead of just a prop, a tool that you could use to turn me into what you always thought I should be?”

You stopped dead, your head filling with static. He wasn’t standing up for himself; he was standing up for you. Defending you. Letting his grandfather, and the patriarch of his family, finally have a piece of his mind for you. This felt different than Steve bickering with Joseph. You didn’t know what this was.

“She never asked for any of this, but she’s accepted it, she’s done what you’ve all told her to do, And yet you all still treat her like dirt, or a pawn, at best. She is a person who deserved to be asked whether or not she wanted to have a baby to fullfill your idiotic dream of a dynasty, Harlan! Not be forced into it under threat of having her entire life ruined if she couldn’t produce a miracle in time!”

“Ransom–” Linda began as she took a step forward, but Ransom didn’t let her get any farther.

He pointed an aggressive, angry finger in her direction. “Don’t even get me started on you! You ever need to speak to her again, you go through me. Lose her number, you’re only calling me from now on. And don’t even think about showing up unannounced at our house–”

He kept going, but your brain couldn’t keep up. It stuttered and stopped and fixated on one phrase. Our house. Our house. Our house. That– You– You hadn’t known he thought of it that way. Hadn’t realized that he included you in anything. You had always thought of it as his house, everything inside of it as his, and you were just… staying there, you guessed. Somewhere inside of you, you’d assumed that you’d always feel like a guest, an intruder, always be treated like one. But he’d just said “our house”, had included you in something that was his. Had given you some ownership. Had made it yours and his together. It took your breath away.

When your brain came back online, everyone was standing in close proximity, their faces red and scrunched in anger, their fingers pointing accusingly at each other. “We’re changing the fucking locks, I swear!” Ransom yelled.

“You little shit,” Richard yelled back. “You don’t get to talk to us like–”

Ransom moved his hands to his hips, threw his head back, and laughed, right in his father’s face. “Oh fuck off.” But then he stopped laughing and got deathly serious. “She is my wife. You touch her again, and I will tear that hand right off.” Richard cowered at that, panicked eyes flicking to you and then Linda, who was still sputtering. And Harlan, who was a shade of maroon you’d never seen on a person, his expression a strange combination of rage and smug knowing.

But there wasn’t time to detangle that or try to de-escalate the situation. Ransom bound over to you in two long strides and pulled you from the love seat, where you’d remained sitting for the entire confrontation. “We’re leaving,” he growled to the room at large, and then pulled you by the hand through the house and out the front door. You tripped over your feet trying to keep up with him. He didn’t slow down until he was right in front of the car.

“Ransom,” you called out to him, once he’d finally stopped. He turned on you sharply, his chest heaving, his face still thunderous. But that couldn’t stop you. Not after what he’d just done. You threw your arms around him and hugged him as hard as you could. “Thank you,” you breathed into his chest, tears pricking at the edges of your eyes.

For a long moment, he just stood there, stiff in your arms. Then his hands came up to encircle you, and he hugged you back. “It’s the very least you deserve,” he whispered into your hair.

And for the first time in your life, you started to believe it.

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